Dragonhammer: Volume I

by Conner McCall

“The prosperity of the world came to an end when Avalkand the Infernal came to power as the Lord of the Fire Giants. He ordered his people to attack and destroy all men and their cities, for the purpose of controlling all of the land. Men fled before them and that might have been the end of the race of man. That is, if Grothingar the Mighty had not stood in his way.

  “Grothingar had a love for men. He loved the way they could build, expand, and they way they could love. This love for them made him their protector.

  “Thus came the callings of the Fire Giants and the Frost Giants. Fire: to destroy, and Frost: to protect.

  “At the same time, the dragons were waging their own war, but it was within their own lands. Verzkor served as the king of the dragons, the Dragon Lord. He ruled with righteousness and good judgment. His son, however, was not the same.

  “Verkoth, Verzkor’s son, agreed with the Fire Giants. That all were to be subjected to their rule, and the dragons and giants were to rule supreme. Verzkor could not believe the evil that had seeded in his son, so he banished him from their lands. Verkoth, in his wrath, swore vengeance. He invaded his own land with his dark followers and threw down his own father, taking upon himself the title of Dragon Lord.

  “Thus the dragons and the Fire Giants came into an alliance. The Frost Giants were unable to hold them back, and were driven back to their own arctic lands. The Fire Giants could not risk the revolt the Frost Giants would lead, so they decided that the Frost Giants must be destroyed.

  “But there stood Grothingar the Mighty.

  “Though the Fire Giants breached their lands, they faced the capitol city of the Frost Giants. Never before had it been breached, and never before had it fallen. Avalkand was determined to be the first.

  “The gate was breached and the Fire Giants, with the dragons, began to fight. They did not expect Grothingar to prove his name as well as he did.

  “Atop the wall, Grothingar fought in an epic duel with Avalkand. Grothingar the Mighty had no match, and soon was driving Avalkand towards the edge. The Lord of the Fire Giants knew his demise was nigh, and so he called upon Verkoth the Dragon Lord.

  “Now it must be said that Verkoth had a son, whose name was Vervold. Vervold saw the ways of his father and knew they were evil, instead believing in the course of the Frost Giants. He refused to fight, but was forced by his evil father.

  “Though Verkoth joined the fight against Grothingar, it availed nothing. As the Frost Giants watched their leader take on such mighty foes, they rose up and fought with ever increasing vigor against their enemies.

  “With a great heave Grothingar threw Verkoth from the wall. Vervold jumped into the fray and fought his own father, killing him in combat. This would not have been had it not been for Grothingar the Mighty.

  “With the dragons leaderless and in disarray, the Frost Giants took courage and fought ever harder. They fought not for dominion or power, but for their homes and families, to protect.

  “Grothingar overpowered Avalkand and forced him to the side, where Avalkand made his escape by jumping down from the great wall. Not before Grothingar could land a crippling blow, rendering Avalkand’s right eye blind. Avalkand and his Fire Giants may have escaped that day, but the Frost Giants were victorious. The dragons retreated from the war into their own lands. Their story continues, but it is not a part of this tale.

  “Grothingar pursued Avalkand all the way back to the land of the Fire Giants, but there the Frost Giants chose to stop. They made a pact with the Fire Giants, and both sides went away in peace.

  “Thus the giants came to peace, the race of men was saved, and the world lived in harmony.

  “And such was because of Grothingar the Mighty.”

  Chess games and the forge

  Nicholas begs Mother to read another, specifically the one involving the dragons. She refuses, mostly because of the length of the one she has already read.

  I smile slightly. It feels good to hear something like that again. It takes me away from the war and from the turmoil inside me. For a moment I get to feel like a small child, lost in the legends and stories of the gods.

  Then I shake myself from my thoughts and, having forgotten what it was I had gone down the hall for, walk back toward the den.

  I change into something slightly more comfortable and sit in a chair padded with blankets and pillows. I do not plan on sleeping. If something happens, it will happen at night. And I need to be ready for it.

  Nathaniel is already drifting off in his chair, similarly padded. There I sit all night, alone with my thoughts, with only a few hours of sleep. Aela fills my mind and I am unable to get her out.

  The next morning I cannot think straight. I am overcome with an intense tension of the mind; it is as if all of the stress of the past few months has saved itself to press upon me at this time specifically. So much death. The loss of my father. The people I’ve killed. Those I have watched die. So much death.

  Nathaniel tries to talk to me, but I have trouble even paying attention to keep the conversation. Eventually I give up, saying, “I’m going to go talk to Gunther.”

  This is actually what I plan on doing, though I expect the conversation will be very short. There’s something very specific I want, and Gunther will be able to help me obtain it.

  Gunther won’t be home; he’ll be at his forge. I walk there, thinking about how I will bring the situation up.

  I don’t bother to knock; I let myself in. He looks up from the grindstone and grins. “Kadmus!” he says cheerfully. “To what do I owe the honor?”

  “I have a favor to ask,” I say bluntly.

  His grin goes down slightly. “Of course,” he responds. “What?”

  “Can I use your forge?”

  His eyebrows go up and he’s taken aback. It’s obviously not what he had expected me to say. “Yes, of course!” he says. “Go right ahead!”

  “Are you working on something right now?” I ask. “I’d hate to intrude.”

  “We can both work,” he says, his smile coming back. “Miss it, have you?”

  “Yes,” I nod. “I need it.”

  “Well, here’s a hammer,” he says. “And there’s, well, everything else.”

  I nod. “Thank you.”

  “It’s nothing,” he says. “What do you plan on making?”

  “I don’t know yet,” I answer.

  He merely nods and says, “Fair enough.” Then he goes back to his project.

  I stare at the hammer for a moment. Then I walk to the shelves where Gunther stores some ingots to keep on hand. The rest are locked up tight in the back.

  “Can I use the steel?” I ask.

  “Of course,” he answers. “What’s mine is yours.”

  Having received permission, I take a couple of the finest ingots and lay them atop the anvil Gunther has designated to me. I study them for a moment. What do I see within? What does this metal have to offer me?

  I stare for several minutes, enjoying the uncomfortably hot environment. Then I finally begin.

  Every ounce of stress that has built up inside of me is worked out. With every hammer stroke I feel slightly better, slightly more at ease with myself. There’s only one thing that does not resolve, and that is the death of my father.

  I work for several hours, shaping and pounding the material. Gunther goes to his home for lunch, leaving me alone in the heat. Then, much to my surprise, Aela walks in. I am drenched in sweat and I must smell horrible, but at this point I don’t care.

  She carries a basket that she lays on the table in the corner. Then she sits and studies me. I ignore her.

  “What are you making?” she asks.

  This is when I answer that question for myself. I had been pounding and heating where my skill had told me, not paying attention to exactly what it was that I had on the anvil. “A warhammer,” I answer, studying my creation thus far.

  She nods and looks at the glowing object on the anvil. After another minute or two of watching, she speaks again. “Yo
u have great skill,” she says. “Who taught you?”

  My hammer stops on the hot metal with a clang, and doesn’t rise. “My father,” I mutter. “Everything I know, I learned from him.”

  “Where is he now? Is he fighting as well?”

  I hit the metal a few more times and then stop. Finally I reply, “No.” A moment later I whisper, “He is dead.” The clang of the hammer follows my words.

  “Oh,” she says insensitively. “I’m sorry.” There’s a moment of silence. The next thing she says is quite sensitive, and she says it softly. “I never knew my father.”

  I look up at her with a look that says, Go on.

  She looks down at the table, her pretty hair slightly covering her forehead and eyes. “I lost him before I can remember,” she continues. “I have no memory of his face, personality, or anything else really. But for his voice.”

  Her brow furrows like she’s both concerned and concentrating. “Of my mother I only remember her face, but the picture is vague.”

  “What happened?” I ask, sticking my steel back in the fire.

  “I have no recollection of it, but I have been told that my father died getting me and my mother out of our village during a Wvolfa raid.”

  “Your mother?” I ask softly.

  “I do not know,” she says. “I was told she died of disease, but it does not seem right. I was very young, but I do not recall any symptoms of any kind before I last saw her.” Her voice trails off.

  “I’m sorry,” I say quietly. “So you grew up in an orphanage?”

  She thinks for a moment. “Yes,” she replies. She takes a deep breath and repeats quieter, “An orphanage.”

  “I am sorry,” I repeat. Then I go back to my work.

  “I brought you lunch,” she says. “Your mother had me bring it to you.”

  “Thank you,” I say, looking her in the eye. “Send her my thanks as well.”

  She nods. She hesitates for a moment, and then takes a step towards me abruptly. Before I can ask her what she is doing, or before she can take another step, Gunther reenters. “Oh,” she says quietly. “I should… go.” Then she strides quickly to the door and out of the building.

  Gunther raises an eyebrow at me and points to the door with his thumb. “Who is that?”

  “That’s Aela,” I explain, walking towards the table and the basket of food.

  He makes his way to his project slowly. “Have you found a girl?” he asks slowly.

  I take a large chunk out of an apple in one bite. It crunches loudly and buys me a few seconds before I answer, “Well, I did find her unconscious by the road. Apparently she had been attacked by bandits and was left for dead. I brought her here to heal.”

  He keeps an eyebrow raised and glances up at me from his anvil. “I’ll take that as a yes, then?”

  “Take it as you will,” I answer. “I can afford no distraction.”

  “That’s exactly what I think you need,” he says. “All of that stress is pent up inside you and can’t get out. You need something else, something other than just fighting and war!”

  I nod. “I know,” I whisper. “That’s why I’m here.”

  He looks at me tenderly. Then he says, “I’m sorry.”

  “For what?”

  He shakes his head and doesn’t answer.

  I eat the rest of the contents of the basket and then continue to work on my warhammer. The heat of the forge is refreshing; it’s something that I’ve missed greatly.

  When I walk back into the house that night, I carry a new weapon.

  Nathaniel admires it with wide eyes. “Whoa,” he says.

  The basic shape is similar to the one that the army had given me. The spike is slightly curved downward, with steel ridges sticking slightly out of its corners and coming to a sharp point on the end. A small spike sticks out of the top, only as long as one of my fingers, but similar in construction to the other spike. The blunt impact portion of the hammer is larger than that of my first hammer, and has six small ridged spikes sticking out along the edges.

  “This is my new warhammer,” I say quietly. It’s a little heavier than the last one I had.

  “Does it fit in your sheathe thing?” asks Nathaniel.

  “It should,” I respond. “I used the same dimensions for the shaft that the other hammer has.”

  “Very cool,” he mutters, gazing at the weapon.

  Aela eyes it uncomfortably, but she says nothing.

  After dinner, Aela sees something in the corner. She does not move to get it, but instead asks curiously, “What is that?”

  “It’s a chessboard,” I reply. Confused, I ask, “Have you never seen a chessboard before?”

  “No,” she says. “What is it?”

  I walk to the game and pick it up. As I set it on the table I respond, “It’s a game.”

  Her head tilts slightly as she looks at the way I set each piece on the game board. “This is a castle,” I explain, holding up a carved little watchtower. “It can move to the sides and forward and backwards, but not diagonal. It can go as many spaces as you want, as long as another piece isn’t blocking it.” Then I pick up a little carved horse. “This is a knight. It moves in the shape of an ‘L’ in any direction.” In a similar fashion I introduce all of the other pieces as I set them up on the board.

  “You go first,” I say finally.

  She hesitates. “I think I’d like to watch first.”

  “Nathaniel,” I call.

  He groans. “Do you have to play against me?”

  “Let’s just show her how to play!” I urge. “Come on!”

  He murmurs something under his breath as he trudges to the table and sits across from me. Aela moves to the side to watch.

  Within only a few moves I have destroyed Nathaniel and put him in checkmate. “That’s why I didn’t want to play,” he says to Aela. “He always wins!”

  “Does he?” mutters Aela thoughtfully.

  “Yes!” replies Nathaniel. “Every time!” He gets up and walks to the chair by the fire, where he sits and stares into the flames, still a little angry.

  “I want to play,” she says.

  Nathaniel turns. “Really?”

  I raise my eyebrows as she nods. “Okay,” I say. Then we reset the pieces.

  She doesn’t put up much of a fight the first time, but it does nothing to quench her curiosity about the new game. “Again,” she says.

  I beat her again and say, “Checkmate,” triumphantly.

  She scrutinizes the board and says, “Okay. Again.”

  Partway through the next game, she is stuck on a particular move. She cannot figure out what to do, and then her face lights up and she moves her knight in an enormous ‘L’ across the board to take my queen.

  “Knights move in little ‘L’s,” I explain. “Two up and one over, or vice versa.”

  “Oh,” she mutters, taking her move back. Her nose scrunches and she studies the board. Then she moves the horse in a different direction and takes one of my castles, effectively setting me back. “Like that?” she asks, looking for my approval.

  “Yes,” I mutter. “Like that.”

  Despite my victory in the third game, she is willing to try again. After I checkmate her, she analyzes every corner of the board and then says, “Okay. I’m ready.”

  I glance to Nathaniel, who is still sulking by the fire, and he mouths to me, “Ready for what?” I shrug discreetly and reset my pieces.

  Within a few moves, what she was ready for becomes more and more obvious. I’m stunned as she takes yet another of my pieces, and I am forced to take several minutes to think about my next move. Regardless, within another three moves she has taken my queen and has my king in check. Her next turn, as she sets down the piece a few squares from where it began, she says quietly, “Checkmate.”

  I’m flabbergasted. By this hour, we are playing by candlelight and the light from the remains of the fire in the hearth. Shadows dance across the board, taunting me with her w
ord, “Checkmate.”

  Nathaniel is equally as stunned. “How the dingflies…” he mutters under his breath.

  I shake my head as she leans back in her chair and folds her arms. “Every time?” she asks Nathaniel. His eyes widen and he shrugs excessively. Her face is smug as she turns back towards me.

  “Let’s leave it there for the night,” I say. “We will play again tomorrow.”

  “Agreed,” she says emphatically as she stands. “I’m going to bed. It’s late and I’m tired.”

  “Good night,” Nathaniel says. I echo him as she walks down the hall. When she is gone, Nathaniel gives me a look that says the exact thing he had uttered earlier.

  “No idea,” I answer. “No idea…”

  The next morning, as we play our rematch, she asks me a question. “Why did you join the army?”

  “To avenge my father,” I say bluntly, taking her pawn. “And to destroy anybody who brings upon other people the pain they have brought upon me.”

  Her eyes narrow. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean the leaders of Tygnar and Diagrall. They bring their clan to war for their own personal gain. They want power, land, wealth, whatever, and they are willing to kill as many people as it takes to get there. It’s sick, and it destroys so many people and families who otherwise would have been happy.”

  “Like yours?” she says softly.

  I nod. “Yes,” I respond. “Like mine.”

  She pauses after she sees my bishop land in a particular square. “You loved your father?” she asks, almost at a whisper.

  “Yes,” I nod. “Still do.”

  She hesitates. “How?” she asks. When she sees my questioning look, she clarifies, “How do you still love your father if he has passed on?”

  “Because he was my life,” I answer. “All the good memories I have involve him in some way or another. He taught me everything I know, not only in the forge, but how to read, how to fight, how to be a good person. I remember him, and as long as I do that he will always be with me. That’s what he told me before he… died.” It’s almost impossible for me to get the last word out.

  “I see,” she says. Then she takes another of my pieces and puts me in checkmate simultaneously.